


You’re running on my mind, boy.

by demitri



Series: The wretched and divine [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Boys Kissing, But this isn’t really the end, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Teen Angst, Teen Romance, Teenagers, this is just really soft, tune in soon kiddos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 12:44:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21271259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demitri/pseuds/demitri
Summary: Zachary Diego Alejandro García wasn’t soft or slow or sweet, and Jay relished in the fact that he was able to see him like that. Just for one second, with only the stars as a witness. With only god as their judge.OrFor a friend. I’m sorry this is so late.





	You’re running on my mind, boy.

**Author's Note:**

> So. I tried my hand at posting an original work here? I’ll probably shift all the others into here as well. Just because I don’t want to hide them anymore. I’ve worked hard in them, and there meant to be somewhere other than my google doc. Anyway. I liked writing about Jason and Zachary, they have an interesting dynamic to explore? I mean for it to be more than the Bad boy, Jock trope, because Jason isn’t really a jock, and Zach isn’t really (okay. Isn’t at all) a bad boy? I want to write more about them really, see what I can do with them
> 
> For now, just enjoy. Take care kiddos. 
> 
> (The title is from ‘Forrest Gump by a Frank Ocean’)

Jay wondered if it was right for Zack to look at him in that way. For him to cross his arms and sneer and shake and somehow, he would still get Jason turn tired baby boy blues onto him. Get him to bend over backwards for his every demand; make him look like a clown for trying to please him so hard.

Jay would always do it, no matter how cold those words were or how miserable he was, he _enjoyed_ pleasing Zach. Because pleasing Zach felt like someone had lit a fire in him after years, and years of cold. Like someone had magicked the ache in his body out into nothingness.

Zack was his friend. He'd stuck around when the others had not. He'd been there for him, even if he was never really there. He would hold Josh's hands in his tight grip, smooth hands would trace each word into his skin, wipe away tears, drag him through the hedges to the back of the rose garden at midnight, eyes fixed on the coins in the fountain, fish coins out of his pocket and and drop them into the fountain and hope they’d still be there in the morning. 

He loved Zack. He really did. He loved the curve of his lips and the curve of his spine and the way his eyes would droop. He loved the scar running through his ear, and his gold piercings and every curse and expletive that had ever passed his lips.

He loved him down to each line of eyeliner on his face, each ripped shirt and low laugh and whispered word as rough as the whiskey he drank. Josh loved him and he didn't understand why.

A* students like Jay went for jocks. For cheerleaders. For class captains and debaters. They went for the kids that ran in packs. They went for the girls who fathers owned teslas and went to country clubs and protested civilly.

A*, school sweater wearing students like Jason went for the kids who's hands raised as soon as the teacher finished the question. Who gave you badges and said "Come join our club", with Smiles faker than their nails.

A*, school sweater wearing, straight-laced students like Jason Lane went for kids who called you pretty and kissed you on the cheek and didn't drag you to school bathrooms to suck your dick because they were bored.

A*, school sweater wearing, straight-laced, varsity jacket students like Jason Lane went for kids who were in the homecoming committee, who pet dogs on the street and were known throughout the community as good kids. Who helped their little siblings with their homework without complaint, and didn’t drink more than a beer at a party.

Jason Lane wasn't meant to go for Zachary García but he did. He didn't just go for him, he devoted his entire being to him. He was a young god, his Adonis, in everything but name.

But, Zachary was mean. And yes, it sounded so childish of him to bring it up in that way, but Zachary was cruel. He could say and say and say and never repent, never get down on his knees for more than just tying his shoelaces. Never apologise to Jay in a way that made him hurt less unless he’d really hurt him, and even then the words came out with a degree of _take it, I’m giving you what you want, right?_

Yes. Zachary was glared words and flicker flames and the smell of rain and gasoline. He was neither the calm or the storm, he was the god who commanded it. And Jay was both the storm and the Lighthouse.

(In words that didn't smell like heartbreak, it meant that he would destroy himself if Zach told him to. And that was scary. That was more than terrifying, really.

Because he would do it, over and over and over again until the man was satisfied with watching him break and piece himself back together.)

It made sense for him to be caught in the whirlpool that was Zach, and be unable to pull himself out, because god. He loved that man in wha he didn’t even understand. He wanted to take the cruelness out of his fingers and weave it into something beautiful and strong and striking; just like him.

But Jay was only one man, and Zach was an army trapped inside one body. And it made sense why they sat in Josh’s room like this, silence carving its path between them.

“So.” Jay started, eyes trailed on the ground, varsity jacket curled right around him. “You’re mad at me.”

Zach made no noise, eyes still closed, head leaning against the wall. Jay winced, eyes squeezing shut at the thoughts swirling in his head, every I’ll thought about Zach making itself known whence it was not needed.

(He already had enough doubts about him, he didn’t need another to add to the list.)

“I don’t know what I did to make you mad, I have done all the right things,” Jay wiped away a stray tear, willing himself to stop with the tears because tears wouldn't make him more sympathetic, but Jay felt with every inch of his being. “I’m not that bad am I?”

Zach turned, flicking him and offhand gaze, before turning back, eyes closed as he shifted, moving an inch closer to Jay. Not much, but an inch meant a mile to Zach and he was thankful, thankful that the man didn’t detest him so much as to move away. But was pleased enough to move closer.

Zach made him feel inadequate, and that was the awful truth. He made him feel smaller than the 6’0 he actually was, made him cower and shake and quake silently.

Zach made Jay feel like a loser. And one thing Jason Nathaniel Lane was not, was a loser. Josh wasn't the guy who pushed down losers either. No, he pulled them up. He forced losers into their feet, made them face him and punch him and let out all their misguided anger at him, and then let them melt in his arms.

Because he could help them. He wanted to help them. He had it in himself to help then, just like he had it in himself to help Zach.

“Say something?” he trailed off when dead eyes focussed their attention on him, pits of black that were still so empty and flat, after so many years. It had been a week since he'd seen the other man crack even ghe barest hint of a smile. Since hed turned his eyes down and gripped his trousers and said _“jay, shut the fuck up-” _in words that didnt bite. He missed it. He missed Zach’s smiles, the ones that belonged only to him, only to their bgime on the rooftop of Jay’s house, leaning out of the window of Zach’s bedroom, smoke curlings around their hair and into their jackets, cold leather on cotton and thin black shirts that clung to every shifting muscle and movement that had Jay so captivated.

Adonis in movement. Modern work of art. Greek tragedy in the works,

“I don't hate you,” Zach said, voice rough and smooth and quiet and- “I've been thinking.”

“You're always thinking,” Jay made sure to point out, eyes turned upwards to the ceiling, eyes transfixed on any irregularity he could find. Something that could distract him from how thoughtful the other man looked, because Zach wasn’t thoughtful. Nowhere in the existence of _Zachary Diego Alejandro García _was thoughtfulness allowed. 

“Yeah, but this time i was thinking about you.”

Jay could hear the full stop, the sense of finality, even when Zach made a move to grip bis chin and pull him close, face to face with him, thumb digging into his cheek, glasses he didn't really need slipping down his nose just slightly.

“I think,” he started, voice the slightest bit unsure, “you're _very_ pretty.”

Jay shook, he shuddered, freezing in Zach's light hold. “I've always thought you were pretty,” he continued, eyes flickering shut. “And it would piss me off when i saw you talking to those other girls, because you were so pretty, and they didn't see that, not in the way I saw it. Never in the way I saw it.

“But your eyes would never turn to me,” he finished, letting go of Jay, “and I’ve been thinking about what to do.”

“Kiss me,” Jay breathed, after a moment of consideration, saying the words Zach would never, fingers digging into his palms, making red crescent moons. “Please.”

“I know darling, I know,” Zach breathed, a smirk on his face, the one he always put on when he knew he had won. The one he wore when he knew he was victorious, that the battle was over and he’d gotten his trophy.

He leaned in, hand finding its way to Jay’s neck, not pressing down, just resting there. And he kissed him. Soft and slow and _sweet_ and so unlike Zach. Zachary Diego Alejandro García wasn’t soft or slow or sweet, and Jay relished in the fact that he was able to see him like that. Just for one second, with only the stars as a witness. With only god as their judge. And Jay hoped he would kiss him till the sun rose and the wind fell and the world went quiet, just for them, just for a moment. Just for however long they needed.


End file.
